This was Tornado's last act of defiance.
Her prized psychic power was useless against the bald man in front of her, but that didn't mean she'd surrender without a fight.
Even if Saitama reached out with a single finger, she had to show she could still resist!
Watching Tornado clamp her teeth around his finger, Saitama felt a flicker of alarm—there was no pain, but it was still unsettling.
He tried to shake her off, yet her teeth stayed magnetized to his finger; no matter how hard he whipped his arm, she clung on, swinging like a stubborn keychain.
"Damn brat! Are you part dog? Let go, you little pest!"
When she still refused, Saitama scratched his non-existent hair and hatched a plan.
He landed, the wicked grin of Super-Intellect Mode spreading across his face.
For once, the Caped Baldy shelved his super strength and debuted his super brain.
[Serious Series: Serious Thinking – Brainstorm]!
He stared straight at Tornado, meeting those defiant, sulky eyes, and chuckled.
"Still not letting go?"
Tornado couldn't answer—her mouth was full of finger—but her glare said it all.
Fine… don't blame me, then. The moment she saw that sleazy smirk, her stomach dropped.
Is this pervert about to do something to me? A total degenerate! A filthy lech!
Instead, Saitama rummaged in his pocket and produced… a feather.
"Heh-heh-heh, time for your punishment, ankle-biter!"
Instantly, an unbearable itch exploded along her ribs; her pupils shrank to pinpricks as her body shook.
Despicable… tickling? How low can you get!
No—if I let go now, I lose to this cue-ball forever. Hold the line!
Face scarlet from suppressed laughter, she bit down even harder, refusing to release.
Saitama escalated to three feathers; still she hung on like a pit bull.
When she'd turned the color of a boiled crab and looked ready to pass out, he finally stopped.
The torment ceased; she gulped air, eyes blazing like a spitting cat's, promising murder.
Sweat-soaked and breathless, her high-slit dress now glued to her skin, cheeks still crimson from the giggles she'd never let out.
As S-Class Rank 2, her willpower was iron; once she set her mind, nothing could change it.
"Tch…"
Even tickling had failed; Saitama's face crumpled like a discarded grocery bag.
Left with no choice, he dialed the miracle number.
"Yo, King, a green-haired ankle-biter's gnawing my finger and won't let go—how do I shake her off fast?"
King burst out laughing the second he heard the summary.
"Dude, is Tornado part terrier?"
He'd expected her to exhaust herself and get one-tapped into nap-time, not clamp onto the Baldy like a rabid teddy bear.
Yet here she was, refusing defeat, jaws locked on the Demon Cyborg–slayer's digit.
After a moment's thought, King offered the perfect counter for her personality.
Saitama blinked. "You sure? Sounds kinda sketchy."
"Try it. If it flops, hot-pot's on me."
"Deal!"
Clearing his throat, Saitama leaned to Tornado's ear, following King's script.
Warm breath brushed her lobe; an electric shiver shot down her spine, eyes flying wide.
Cupping his hands, he made sure every syllable hit home.
"You weakling."
The world froze for two heartbeats.
Then, to his amazement, she unclamped her jaw.
A torrent of abuse followed.
"Hah? Weakling? You chrome-dome! Boiled egg! Bottom-feeder! Pauper! Troll! Pervert! Creep! Bastard! Bodysuit weirdo—"
"Cut it out!"
A flick to the forehead shut her up; eyes rolling back, she keeled over, out cold.
Saitama exhaled, patting his non-existent hair.
"Phew—another second and she'd have cursed me bald… er."
"Kids these days—no filter. Parents ought to enforce mouth-soap protocols…"
Muttering, he hoisted her by the scruff and jogged toward the Hero Association.
He'd never seen her as an enemy—just a flying brat with attitude.
She hadn't really hurt him; no need to return the favor.
Mainly, he fretted…
Glancing at the limp girl, he shuddered at the thought of her parents suing him into poverty.
He'd only just escaped penny-pinching—no way he'd risk bankruptcy over child-bullying damages.
Were Tornado conscious, that reasoning alone would spark another apocalyptic tantrum.
Meanwhile, King pocketed his phone, smiling wryly.
From Saitama's tone, the fight—if you could call it that—was done.
Poor kid. S-Class Rank 2, top-tier among humans bar the cheaters like Blast, yet this week she'd faced…
King himself—Death-Gate Physique plus Seventh Gate of Eight Gates, a walking stat-stick.
And the Baldy, the very avatar of raw numbers—no mechanics, just overwhelming force.
Either opponent guaranteed her a one-way ticket to Loss-ville; no shame in that.
His musings ended as he refocused on the scene ahead.
There, a white-coated young man stood frozen, terror in his eyes.
The air was colder than dry ice.
Dr. Genus cursed his rotten luck.
He'd forgotten the oldest rule: killers revisit the crime scene.
Minutes earlier, he'd combed the Evolution House ruins for salvage—data, test subjects, anything.
Priority one: files on Infinite Regeneration and Clone; they'd determine whether his Takoyaki venture thrived.
With those, octopus limbs could regrow forever, slashing ingredient costs.
He also needed two reliable helpers—preferably ex-monsters who already knew the drill.
So far, he'd only fished out the Deserter Mechanical Gorilla.
As for Mosquito Girl—alive, sure, but she'd buzzed off too far to bother retrieving…
...
(End of Chapter)
[Throw some stones]